LKaOUT - Deleted Scenes
by KillianJones
Summary: Some deleted scenes from the fic Love, Kindness, and Other Useless Things.
1. One

_AN: These are just some scenes that either had no place in the fic, or that I've written after I've already published the chapter in which it could fit. Seeing as they are only scenes, they won't be full chapter length, some of them vary from five hundred words, to a thousand. But I thought it would still be a nice little extra content for those interested. :)_

 _Unlike with the main fic, this won't be in chronological order, but just like with the main fic, I'll always post the date, so you could easily see either in which, or between which chapters the scene could take place. :)_

* * *

 _Late June, 1816._

Ruby's grinning and giggling came to a quick stop as they noticed Mr Jones coming out of his office. Mary Margaret came to a halt just behind them, her hand searching for Emma's as though she was searching for some sort of protection.

"Where is the party going?" He asked nonchalantly, one eyebrow arched.

"I have told you, we will be going into town," Ruby answered. Emma did her best not to stare at him as Ruby took the word, but each time she found her eyes drifting, she found him already looking at her, looking away just as quickly as she did as their gazes met. "All tasks and preparations have been made and I will be certain to bring Emma home before Grace is finished with her lessons."

Mr Jones hummed shortly. "And what will you be doing in town again?"

"The militia will be coming, so we will be tossing handkerchiefs at them until Emma finds one that tickles her _fancy_ ," Ruby jested and locked her arms with Emma. Emma could practically feel her cheeks burn up, quickly turning away from Lord Jones to hide her horrified look from him. Behind her, Mary Margaret coughed softly, likely to hide her own surprise.

Even though she'd known Ruby for a while now, Emma could scarcely believe Ruby had actually used such a vulgar word to him. But Mr Jones did not seem affected and simply hummed gruffly in response whilst walking away from them without another word.

Ruby rolled her eyes, still with that playful grin on her lips, and tugged at Emma's arm.

"I thought you said he had given us permission to go?" Emma whispered as they walked outside, Mary Margaret and Ella closely following.

"He had," Ruby said, biting down on her bottom lip. "But I _might_ have neglected to mention to him _why_ we were going."

"Goodness," Ella spoke, seemingly having found her voice again. "It has been a while since I have seen him this irritable."

"He is merely jealous, nothing to worry about," Ruby explained.

"Jealous?" Ella asked.

"Of another man receiving Emma's affection," Ruby answered with a giggle, teasingly leaning into Emma as they walked towards the town centre.

* * *

Whilst Ella, Ruby, and Mary Margaret were in a store, looking for ribbons, and other trinkets, Emma found herself just outside the little shop, looking at the crowds passing by. She had never seen the streets so overflowing, the streets were filled with people and everywhere you could hear music being made, children's laughter, enthusiastic conversations.

And young coquettes tossed their handkerchief to the ground in desperate attempts to find a man willing to pick it up for them.

She found it quite amusing to see girls much younger than her with such desperate desires for affection. Yes, Ruby had told Mr Jones the sole purpose of their visit to town was to find a suitor for Emma, but the four of them knew Ruby had only said it to vex him. Not necessarily because of Emma, but because of the language used to inform him. Ruby said she found it incredible how easy it was to tease him over 'such trivial matters'.

But his reaction had kept Emma's mind busy. Ruby said it was jealousy, but Emma was not entirely certain. Of course, somewhere, she hoped it was indeed jealousy.

"I believe you have dropped something," A man's voice said.

"You must be mistaken, Sir, I-" She trailed off upon turning around, gazing directly into his blue eyes. She had been so deeply lost in the moment she had not even recognised his voice. "It is not mine," Emma quietly finished her sentence.

Mr Jones's lips curved into a smile before arching an eyebrow at her, his voice low as he spoke. "Have you not found any one worthy of your handkerchief, then?"

"No," Emma answered, staring down to where he still held a neatly folded handkerchief between them, in its corner, embroidered with golden thread _E.S_.

"Nevertheless," He spoke in a whisper meant only for her ears, stepping improperly close and gently taking her hand in his as he laid the handkerchief into her open palm. The soft fabric was cool against her skin, the material far more expensive than she could ever afford. "I still believe this is yours."

"A gift?" Emma asked, tilting her head as she looked at him. The smile he wore was still in place as he nodded. "Why?"

Emma frowned at him, certainly he must know what the handkerchief meant. If Emma knew what it represented, surely he must as well. But there was an innocence in his look, and Emma couldn't be sure whether it was feigned or genuine.

"Does it require a reason?" He asked. "Especially for a gift so trivial?"

It was but a gift to him, there was no underlying romantic meaning, no flirtations, only a simple gift.

"I have never been given much, Milord. It is not a trivial thing to me," Emma said as she looked back to the handkerchief in their hands. "Thank you."

"Emma!" Ruby's voice sounded as they walked out of the little shop.

Emma quickly hid the handkerchief in her sleeve before turning around to face Ruby. "I have found a stray," She said, keeping her voice light, hoping not to show just how affected she was by Lord Jones' gift. _Or_ his close proximity.

"Aw, he is quite adorable," Ruby teased.

"May we keep him, Ruby?" Mary Margaret grinned, childishly tugging at Ruby's dress. "Please?"

"Only if he knows how to behave," Ruby answered. "And if you bathe him regularly."

"Bloody hell," Mr Jones muttered, reaching behind his ear and looking away to hide his blushing cheeks.

"'Tis your own fault," Ruby said matter-of-factly. "We told you this was a ladies' outing. No men allowed."

"Well, I believe you have forgotten one," Mr Jones said, pointing behind them at the toy shop where Grace emerged from the doorway, Thomas right behind her, carrying two boxes.

"Gracie," Ruby greeted with a curtsy, the other women following her example.

"May I stay with you, please?" Grace asked politely, looking at Ruby and Emma with wide, pleading eyes.

"Of course," Ruby said smilingly.

"I believe I will see you all for supper, then?" Mr Jones spoke, locking eyes with Emma one last time before taking a bow. "Ladies."

Emma watched him walk away from them until Mary Margaret gently pulled her along as they continued their walk through the crowded town streets.

And as they continued their day, more often than not, Emma found herself running her fingers over her wrist, feeling the little bump where she'd hid the handkerchief. It may not have meant what it should have meant, but for now, Emma preferred to pretend that it did.

* * *

 _AN: This little scene would take place between Fourteen and Fifteen._

 _Fun fact, seeing as this was a deleted scene, I hadn't actually used proper language, so before posting I had to look it up. "tickling someone's fancy" was actually a sentence used, but it was such a vulgar sentence, seeing as 'fancy' was a euphemism for 'fanny', and we all know what that means. ;)_

 _Another fun fact, handkerchiefs were often given out as tokens of affection, and in some cases even as a marital contract. Of course, mostly by women, but seeing as handkerchiefs were a well-known token of love, it was pretty easy to give someone a handkerchief and be like 'hey, I kinda really like you.'_

 _Anyway, hope y'all liked this little scene, if you're interested I have a few more, some of them I consider more canon than others, but they could theoretically all take place in the LKaOUT universe. :_ )


	2. Two

_Early November, 1815._

"What are you reading?" His voice startled her, how else could it, when she'd sat in the silent library for hours after putting Grace to bed. She'd grown used to the soft crackling of the fire being the only sound in the room. Emma quickly learnt that apart from Ruby and Mary Margaret, not many servants were literate. Though, of course, for their respective tasks, they did not need to read. Cleaning required no literary knowledge, neither did lighting fires, or sowing.

But their illiteracy made for the library being a quiet place in the mansion, infrequently visited save for dusting the surfaces.

Grace was an absolutely delightful child, but spending her time quietly reading by the fire was welcome after spending the day with her.

"Pride and Prejudice," Emma replied, looking up at him as he hummed shortly. His hand ghosted over the spines of the well-loved books. Emma concluded that, seeing as most of the servants were illiterate and Ruby and Mary Margaret lacked the time to read, it was Mr Jones who enjoyed reading, or possibly his wife. Perhaps they both did, and he stopped reading because it reminded him too much of his wife.

Emma reasoned that he stopped doing a lot of things he enjoyed doing after his wife died, like smiling.

And instead of reading he'd taken to the hobby of being a perpetual frowner.

"I cannot quite find myself to like it," Mr Jones said then, his voice low and tired.

Emma laughed, folding her hands over her book and leaning her chin on the back of the chair. "Perhaps that is easily explained."

That made him look up, arching a challenging eyebrow at her. "Is it now?"

"Yes," She answered. Though he'd just challenged her, he crossed his arms, and it gave him a sort of defensive stance. Somehow he wanted equally to have a conversation with her, as well as very desperately desiring to run away from any form of conversation altogether. She'd barely known the man for two weeks now, and all their conversations had ended in either one being offended. Mostly it had been Emma. And mostly it had been due to Mr Jones lacking in the ability to hold up a proper conversation. "You are far too much like Mr Darcy yet you refuse to see it."

He scoffed at that. "Certainly you must be Ms Bennet then?"

"Which one would that be, Milord?" Emma chuckled, tilting her head as she watched his hands fold and unfold, his fingers fiddle with one another. His hands shook, she knew it was the rum he indulged in more often than not. He was so clearly hurting, but refused to seek out help, and instead pushed away anyone who cared enough to help.

"Personally I would say Mrs Bennet," Mr Jones said. As he noticed her stare at his hands, he hid them into the pockets of his trousers, but even then he could not refrain from fidgeting, the chain of his pocket watch swayed lightly as he fiddled with it. "Like her, you enjoy mingling in other people's lives."

Emma shook her head, only barely keeping herself from rolling her eyes.

"Besides," He continued at her silence. "If I am Mr Darcy, you cannot possibly be Miss Elizabeth, for they end up falling in love. And I could certainly never see myself falling in love with you."

A laugh escaped Emma at that, though it sounded more like a wheeze than anything else. "Oh, believe me, Milord, there are _far_ more pleasant men than yourself in whose company I would rather find myself."

"At least we are able to agree on that."

"That you are an unpleasant man?" Emma asked with a grin, the question having past her lips before she realised exactly what she was saying, and to whom she was saying it.

Instead of showing anger, he simply shook his head. "That we would rather not be in each other's company."

Emma's smile was one of confusion more than anything else. "Yet, Milord, you have sought out my company, and yet, you remain here to talk to me."

"'Tis my library," Mr Jones objected, removing his hands from his pockets to cross them before him once mor.

"I was here before you entered," Emma countered quickly.

"I _lived_ here before you," He argued with a glare. She would have found the retort hilarious, had she been arguing with a child. Somehow she did not find it as amusing when it was a grown man that gave her such a childlike answer. So, she sighed deeply as she closed her book and got up from her chair.

"Very well, I shall read in my room. Goodnight, Milord." Emma curtsied and walked away from him. God, this man was so infuriating at times. Why did he choose to make her so miserable? Perhaps he wished to see how far he could push her before she would quit. If that was the case, he would be pushing for a long time. Emma certainly had no desire to give up easily.

"Emma!" He ran after her quickly. "Miss Emma," He corrected himself before wrapping his fingers around her arm. She scowled at him, looking from where his fingers were curled around her wrist to keep her from going any further to his eyes, and as if scorched, he let go immediately.

"Milord, you have promised to not send me away unless I make a grave mistake, I am trying my very best to please everyone, but you are making it terribly difficult. I understand you take pleasure in taunting me, but please allow me to prove to you that I am at least trying to please you as well."

"And how would you _please_ me, then?" He asked, there was something in his eyes and grin that showed he was thinking of less than proper things at this very moment, but Emma chose to ignore it. On her third day here she'd already inquired with Ruby, and she'd easily soothed her worries: Mr Jones had no issues with saying things of a seductive nature, but he would never ask, nor force you to join him in his bedroom.

"By leaving when you shoo me from your library, for example."

Lord Jones nodded, only a small smirk remained on his lips as he gestured that she was free to leave his proximity if she pleased.

"Thank you. Goodnight, Milord."

* * *

 _AN: Personally, I like the scene because it shows that Killian pays far more attention to Emma than he likes to admit. Because he gives her "Emma" for Christmas, but "Emma" is also written by Jane Austen._

 _This scene could fit in between Chapter Two and Chapter Three._


	3. Three

_Late February, 1816._

"Sir? You called for me?"

He looked up from his briefcase as she walked into his office, his face betrayed he wanted to give her another lecture about how she had to knock first, then enter, but his sigh told her he wouldn't.

"Do you know how to shave?" He asked.

Emma looked at him, one eyebrow raised. He scratched his usually well-kept beard to show her. Normally he kept it trimmed short, on some occasions even shaven clean, but it had been a while this time, and it had grown longer than she had seen before. He simply had not been bothered by it and somehow Emma knew that if he did not have that important meeting with a client tomorrow, he would still not have considered shaving.

"No, Milord, I do not," Emma answered.

"Well, then I hope you are a bloody natural. Close the door."

"I could fetch Ruby for you," She offered. "Or Mary Margaret, I am certain they are more experienced in this matter."

"Close the door, Miss Emma," He ordered again, sitting down in his chair and turned it to face the window.

Emma sighed softly, closing the door and walking towards him. He had laid out the materials on his desk, a small bowl that contained a block of soap, a brush, cloth, water, and a sharp looking razor.

"Dip the brush in the water, and start making foam with the soap," He explained but did not look at her as he spoke, instead he stared out through his office window. The trees looked bare, but new life started to shape underneath a slowly melting layer of cold snow.

"Why can't you do it yourself?" Emma asked as she swirled the brush around on the soap. Mr Jones looked up at her, there was no anger in his eyes, something else rather: shame. With a deep sigh, he lifted his hands from where they rested in his lap. The shaking in his hands had grown quite visible now, and even as he clenched them into a fist, they still shook. "Oh," She muttered.

"I am afraid I will cut myself," He spoke softly.

"And you trust _me_ not to cut you, even though I have never done this before?" Emma scoffed.

Mr Jones nodded. "I do."

"I believe it is done," She said as she showed him the bowl. Again he nodded, gesturing at his face.

With gentle care, she applied the foam to his beard, until it laid on thick and he looked quite odd with his foamy beard. Emma smirked at her creation, giving him the hand mirror to inspect her work.

"Good. Now take the razor," He instructed, pointing behind him at his desk.

"I still think I should fetch Ruby," Emma muttered as she looked at the blade in her hand, and carefully touched it.

"No," He said firmly, stubbornly crossing his arms. "I want _you_." Emma nearly dropped the razor from her hands as her eyes grew wide, masking her surprised gasp with a cough. He frowned then, finally realising what he'd said. "I meant, I know you will be gentle, I trust you."

"All right," Emma whispered, leaning closer as he lifted his chin towards her. For a moment she just stared at him, the way his tired, yet beautiful blue eyes looked right back at her. The way he looked a bit silly with his white, foamy beard, and still managed to look incredibly handsome as well. Emma blinked rapidly as he cocked an eyebrow at her. "All right," She muttered again, letting a soft breath fall over her lips as she looked back to her hands. "May I, eh –"

He grinned, "You may touch me anywhere you like."

Emma blushed furiously, her mouth opening and closing as her mind struggled to find something proper to say.

Mr Jones grinned even wider at that. "I am merely teasing, relax."

Emma glared at him. "Well, if you wish for my hands to be steadier than yours, I would advise you not to tease me so, Milord, certainly not when I am holding a blade near your throat."

"I sincerely apologise Milady, now, if you please, I do not have all day." Mr Jones winked at her and forced his teasing features into a more neutral expression.

"Yes, Sir."

Emma leant closer once more, bringing the razor to his cheek, her other hand steadying his jaw. She held her breath upon drawing the razor against his cheek and it made a soft scraping sound. But much to her relief, she had managed her first try without already cutting him.

"You can breathe, love, you are doing just fine."

Emma laughed quietly, her lungs filling with air again, the tenseness in her shoulders easing. He did not tease her further, instead he let her focus on her task. Only near the end had she nicked him near his jaw, when she found herself distracted by his lips and by her close proximity to them. She had profusely apologised and he had quickly told her he was fine. By the time she had completely finished and handed him a cloth to clean the little remnants of soap, the bleeding had already stopped.

He drew the cloth over his face to dry it, looking at her with an arched eyebrow. "Well, how do I look?"

 _Incredibly handsome._ "Perfectly fine, Sir."

"Thought so." He grinned. "Thank you for aiding me, Miss Emma. I shall have to remember that you have a talent for shaving next time I require help."

Emma nodded with a smile. _I look forward to it._

* * *

 _AN:_

 _This one could fit between chapter eight and nine._

 _I apologise the wait for a new chapter on the main fic is taking me a bit longer, I am currently going through a bit of a rough patch, which makes writing a bit difficult and I don't want to put out a chapter that I don't fully stand by._

 _Hope this little scene makes up for it, even just a little!_


	4. Four

**_AN: This isn't necessarily a deleted scene, this is Emma & Killian meeting for the first time, but through Killian's eyes, as per request._**

* * *

Tired. He was so bloody tired.

It hadn't even been the journey; it was just… everything. Though his journey had been delayed a couple of hours, the wheel of the carriage breaking down resulting in the horse being injured, and they journey being unable to continue.

He slept poorly in the little–loud–inn, mostly visited by men unfaithful to their wives. The room had been damp and cold, the sheets too short to cover his body, and the breakfast piss-poor.

"Welcome home, Killian." Ruby chirped the moment he stepped through the door. Early morning, and yet his Winslow Manor was wide awake already–or at the very least, far more awake than he was. He only hummed a response, usually an indication that he'd like to be left alone, and usually she understood that. Not today. "We have a new addition to our household–thank you for mentioning that she'd be coming by, much appreciated." Killian frowned, only just then remembering that he'd invited a new nanny for Grace to meet her. "She's lovely, however, so you are forgiven. She's very good with Grace, too –"

"Ruby," Killian complained. "Please, not now."

A drink, he needed a drink. And then some proper sleep.

"She's in the garden, if you wish to meet her," Ruby added quietly before leaving him alone. A drink… or meet the woman who would replace Charlotte. Perhaps he'd test her immediately; see if she'd be a good replacement for her. Rubbing his hands over his face and made way for the garden.

The garden was empty save for a blonde kneeling in his least favourite part of the garden. He'd done it for Grace, so that she could be close to her mother–and for her for she loved her garden so much. Upon her passing he spent so much time there, planting her favourite flowers, bringing new flowers each day, hoping for it to become a sanctuary, just for him and his daughter. Instead, he grew to hate the garden, choosing to avoid it as much as he could, even ordering his gardener to never touch it, perhaps the plants would take over and he'd never have to see it again.

"What are you doing?" His voice was surprisingly cold, and it had taken the woman by surprise as well. Good.

"I –" She started and then her eyes met his. _Beautiful_. It was the first thought in his mind upon seeing her, but he banished it from his mind immediately. She was so young still, but there was something in her eyes that somehow told him she felt as lonely as he did sometimes. And yet, her face was one filled with kindness, not letting her hurt standing in the way of it.

She rose to her feet; she was smaller than him, and younger. Too young to be taking care of a child? Too young for him to ruin her by taking her into his bed.

"Well? Bloody hell, who even are you?" It was a rude way of asking her name, he knew. But he found himself too tired to care. Or perhaps he found himself scared of the ideas that crawled through his head. He hadn't cared in so long, for no one but his daughter, and he refused to let this young woman to change that.

"Father!" His daughter's laugh made him look over his shoulder. She was still dressed in her nightgown, it fluttered around her as she ran towards him and crashed into his legs. He smiled and lifted her up into his arms, she was heavier than he remembered–had he been gone for that long? No. But he had missed the days where she was even smaller, where he could easily lift her up. And because he'd missed those, he would not complain now, even if his body did. "You have met Emma? She is amazing is she not?"

 _Emma_. That was her name.

Through the corner of his eye he could see her divert her gaze to the ground, a blush spreading over her cheeks.

"You like her?" He asked his daughter; she nodded so hard her entire body shook in his arms. "How much?" Grace let go of his neck and spread her arms as wide as she possibly could.

"This much!"

He stifled a chuckle. "You liked Miss Charlotte that much."

"I like Emma this much as well."

"All right, if my Gracie likes her, then perhaps I should talk to her." He set Grace back down on the ground when his tired body started to beg for it.

A heavy silence fell when Grace suddenly quieted down her excitement.

"Did you place flowers on mother's grave, father?" Grace frowned with a small smile and knelt down in front of the stone. Killian shook his head and gestured towards Emma with some defeat as he scratched behind his ear. His daughter's expression faltered a bit and he turned his back as he started to walk away. He heard a soft "thank you."

Before Emma could reply, Killian called out for her, asking her to follow him. He knew she followed him, but he didn't wait for her. He wanted to put some distance behind them, literally and figuratively.

He unlocked the door of his office and opened the curtains of the window behind his desk, and turned to face her again. But she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the books in his office, the trinkets he kept, taking in all the details. The wonder in her eyes at the books surrounding them was mesmerising, and he found himself momentarily distracted by her.

 _No. Absolutely not_ , Killian chastised himself and sat down. "So what were you doing by my wife's grave?" He asked, gesturing to the chair opposite of him. "Sit."

"Just bringing flowers, Sir," Emma replied. Grace liked her, he reminded himself with the smallest shake of his head. Could he not at least try? "It seemed to make Grace happy," She offered.

Killian scoffed. She was clever too. Just great. "Do leave my daughter out of this, Miss Emma." He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face once more. He had so much work to do still. He still hadn't taken a drink. And it was calling out to him. Begging for him. Like his body was begging for the numbness of the rum. _Focus!_ "But... She seems to like you, so who am I to deny her." Work. He had work to do. Taking pen and paper from his drawer, he began to write the letter to his employers. Once upon a time, his handwriting had been pretty, he'd worked on it day and night to perfect it, so that he could write love letters to his Milah. But with his shaking hands, his handwriting looked nothing but atrocious. "Very well, tell me about yourself," He spoke with a deep sigh. "Please," He added quietly.

"What do you wish to know?"

He almost shrugged. Nothing, he wanted to know nothing at all. He just wanted her out of his office. But he couldn't very well tell her that he didn't actually care. "Do you know how to write?"

"Yes, Sir."

Killian jerked his head up in surprise, arching an eyebrow. A servant that knew how to write? "Read?"

She was kind enough to not let her offence at his question show. Instead she smiled at him, and it was so much worse. "Oh, I do so love to read."

Of course she could read, she wouldn't be as amazed by the books in his collection if she hadn't been able to read.

"Where do you hail from?"

Bloody hell, he wasn't genuinely interested in what she had to say, was he? No. That was it. That was all he wanted to know.

"I grew up in the city, my last family was in Windsor."

"All right," He nodded, folding the letter and sealing it closed with his wax seal. "Welcome to Winslow Manor. I trust Ruby has explained everything to you already?"

"Yes– Wait, is that all you wish to know?"

"Yes," He hummed, rising from his chair to take a liquor bottle from the cupboard underneath one of the bookshelves. Finally. Why was this bloody bottle so hard to open? If his hands could just stop shaking for a damned moment.

She was quiet for a moment before speaking up again. "You are taking a complete stranger in your home, and all you wish to know is where I am from and if I can read?"

"Grace adores you. I asked the other servants about you–or rather, they forced their positive comments about you upon me. You look trustworthy, if not a little nosy, but I am certain you will work on that."

"I am an orphan," Emma blurted out. Killian looked at her over his shoulder. She seemed ashamed of it almost. Or perhaps she was more ashamed of her outburst. "I thought you should know," She added in a whisper.

"All right," He nodded, finally managing to open the bottle and pouring himself a generous glass full of it.

"You do not mind?" Emma asked quietly.

"Should I?" He retorted, one eyebrow raised. She was hardly the first orphan in his service, in his household, and he doubted she would be the last.

She smiled shyly. "I suppose not."

He figured that would be the end of their conversation and downed his glass in a few large chugs. The familiar burn down his throat a welcome relief from the other hurt he felt.

Somehow he both wanted it to be the end of the conversation, but also didn't want it to be the end. He cleared his throat. "I had been meaning to apologise for giving you the wrong date, but apparently you have made yourself quite at home already."

"Grace is very lovely, Sir," Emma replied.

"Yes, she is." He looked away from her, she was kind, why was she so frustratingly kind. It would be so much easier if she wasn't. He stared at his empty for a moment, wondering how it had gotten so empty so fast. "I presume you have been told what your tasks are?"

"I have, Sir."

"About the ballet?"

"Bring her at two, retrieve her at four, each Sunday."

He nearly smiled at her, but not quite. God forbid she knew he felt any kind of feeling at all. It was so much easier when people figured he didn't care. He sighed deeply, his chest aching. "All right, dismissed."

"Pardon?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Do you have any questions?"

She stammered her response. "I eh... Well... No, I guess not."

"Then you are dismissed, surely you can find the door? It is right there behind that bookshelf."

Emma exited his office, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

Not a replacement for Charlotte, then. Perhaps he'd have to find a way to be rid of her instead. He was handsome enough, how hard could it be to find a servant willing to lay with him. But where would he find one that beautiful?


End file.
